Mine to keep

The Kindergarten teacher gives me her aunt's phone number. "Call Wanda," she says. "She has a couch that she is willing to give you. It's still in good condition."

Today, I was given my apartment key. With the help of two handy guy-friends, I hauled the first furniture to enter this new abode. We had a hard time getting the couch through the door (as always the case), but after minutes of tugging, pushing, pulling, and finally shoving, the sofa finally made its place. I could have sworn my couch gave a sigh of relief as much as I did. But I was smiling. I still am.

My couch. I like the sound of that. My apartment. My lock and key. Suddenly I feel wealthy. I just inherited the most valuable gift I could give myself. My independence.

In reality I know that my struggles will still continue. But at the same time, I believe challenges will be positively overwhelming. Life will not present itself on a silver platter; nevertheless it will be served to me. I will take its abundance and sift through the fine discerning cloth to separate negative impurities, throwing them in the air, while preserving the more treasured affirmative concours.

With key in hand, I unlock the door leading to my new life. As I enter the beige and sturdy door of salutation, a whiff of fresh air invigorates my soul. I awake; I come alive as I pass through a new hospitable home. Again, in transition, I breathe that faith in...

Such a cozy room, the windows are illuminated
By the evening sunshine through them,
Fiery gems for (you) me, only for me...
- Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young

The keeper of my heart

My friend and I like to talk about everything. The exclusivity of the topic of sex is a completely different area in our relationship. Of course our sexual relationship is not only nonstandard, it is also classified. After all, we don’t always have it habitually or routinely as much as we would like to, but it is what it is and we’re succumbed to this actuality. With awareness of our own independent lives, we settle in our world of friendship and the wisdom of knowing that in the end we don’t belong to each other. Our insight is parallel, yet our individual existence remains clear of each other. Tragic, but true.

We also confront the subject of love even more significant than sex. He tells me he’ll stay with me until love finds me again. I respond to have found love. He adds that this love should be from a man who will be mine for keeps. And as long as this keeper hasn’t found me, my lover will be with me – in mind and spirit.

It is tragic. Romantics shouldn’t be hearing, let alone, uttering these ominous words. But we are realists in the sense that we know this consummation will meet its end; when exactly, I don’t know. I only know what he makes me. I know I am growing in our silent nearness. My flower now blooms in what used to be a barren land in my heart. My earth is moist and rich again, and soon I know more colorful flora will grow. With new seeds of hope, the petals of charity will once again appear from the blooms of faith; my faith. It is in the thirst for inspiration that will give way to the keeper of my heart. As far as I know he has my heart. He has it wholly, fully, and cleanly without impurities and toxicity. Only he shall have this for as soon as the guardian claimed ownership of it, I am most convinced its virtue will be corrupted by sins of jealousy, selfishness and possessiveness. My love affair with this soulful man is not without sin; as a matter of fact, in moralistic concerns, it is labeled sinful. However, I am not guilty of the sins of jealousy which would give way to deceitful ways to make him mine for good. I steer clear of the possessiveness. I don’t claim to own his loyalty, but rather I have his restricted love and affection.

He and I are not free to keep each other, yet we poignantly express freedom with our bodies, heart and mind. And in our pleasure, we give and receive not only the desires of our fueling hearts, but also the pain and suffering of frustrations and despair.

In the garden of pleasure, I am his flower and he is my bee.

Go to your fields and your gardens, and you shall learn
that it is the pleasure of the bee to gather honey of the flower,
but it is also the pleasure of the flower to yield its honey to the bee.
for to the bee a flower is a fountain of life,
and to the flower a bee is a messenger of love,
and to both, bee and flower,
the giving and the receiving of pleasure is a need and an ecstasy.
- Kahlil Gibran